Mr Cadmus. Peter Ackroyd

rise early in the morning, dear lady.’

      ‘I was just about to call on Maud. Miss Finch.’

      ‘Oh yes?’

      ‘We share a taxi on Fridays into Barnstaple. Shopping day.’

      ‘Taxi! But you must let me drive you both!’

      ‘Oh no! We couldn’t hear of it.’

      ‘You will be doing me a great favour, dear Miss Swallow. You will be showing me your countryside.’

      ‘But the petrol—’

      ‘A mere nothing. I, too, must shop. Am I not flesh and blood?’

      ‘I will want to have a word with Maud. Miss Finch.’

      ‘Please.’

      Miss Swallow walked the short distance to her neighbour’s front door. Maud Finch could tell from her ring that something was afoot. From her upstairs window she had seen the two of them talking, and she came quickly down the stairs.

      ‘Maud, Mr Cadmus has kindly offered to drive us into Barnstaple.’

      ‘Drive us?’

      ‘Yes, dear, in his car.’ They looked at each other with barely suppressed excitement.

      ‘Can we do that, Millicent?’

      ‘I don’t see why not.’

      ‘He hardly knows us. We are still practically strangers.’

      ‘We are no longer young nurses. It may shock you, Maud, but we are past the age of forty.’

      ‘It has crossed my mind.’

      ‘It may have occurred to you, then, that we are adults. He is not abducting us, Maud, he is driving us to Barnstaple.’ She raised her head slightly. ‘I think it would be rude to refuse. Besides, we will be his guides. He wants to see the countryside. Now wrap up. It is rather brisk.’

      Theodore Cadmus had parked the car along a narrow track that ran past the side of his cottage. The two ladies waited for him on the grass verge in front of their gardens. ‘Where do you want to sit,’ Millicent Swallow asked her companion, ‘front or back?’

      ‘I really don’t mind.’

      ‘I think I should go in the front. I’m better at directions.’

      If Maud Finch resented this, she did not show it. She had already become accustomed to it.

      Once they were comfortably seated, Millicent took charge. ‘We will first of all take you through the village, pointing out the various places of interest as we go.’ Maud clutched her handbag as they set off with a sudden spurt.

      ‘Coming up on our left, Mr Cadmus, is the post office and general stores.’

      ‘Very expensive, actually,’ Maud murmured.

      ‘Quite so. Yet sometimes a necessary expense. It is run by the Watsons.’

      ‘A very nice couple.’

      ‘Although, Mr Cadmus, you may find them a little common. They come from London. He was a policeman, I believe.’

      ‘I bow to your judgement, dear lady.’

      ‘Down here on the left is the public house. The Nell Gwynne.’

      ‘I have heard of that fascinating lady,’ Cadmus murmured.

      ‘Not one of England’s finest, I’m afraid.’

      ‘But how pretty she looks on that painted board.’

      ‘Artistic licence.’

      ‘An English pub has for me such romance. I have read of it all my life.’

      ‘We don’t go in,’ Miss Finch replied.

      ‘Oh no.’ Miss Swallow did not want to be left out of the conversation. ‘The noise on Saturday nights! Sidney tries his best, but—’

      Sidney worked behind the bar of the Nell Gwynne. He had arrived at Little Camborne with a Gladstone bag and a marine compass. He had told everyone that he was a diver by profession, but this had made very little impression.

      ‘If you turn left here, Mr Cadmus, this little road will take us to our church.’

      ‘Ah! A thing of beauty.’

      ‘We are proud of it.’

      ‘It goes back to the seventh century,’ Millicent Swallow added. ‘Although most of it is later. Our vicar is very keen on history.’

      ‘A learned priest. My ideal.’

      ‘He is not exactly a priest,’ Maud Finch told him. ‘That is something you probably won’t understand. He is a vicar.’

      ‘But he is a man of God?’

      ‘Oh yes,’ Miss Swallow replied. ‘His sermons are lovely.’

      They now made their way to Barnstaple, past muddy fields and farmyards, past old stone walls and patches of surviving forest. Millicent Swallow considered that Mr Cadmus was driving too fast, and occasionally looked back at Maud to signal her concern. Miss Finch professed to ignore this and instead addressed him on the subject of Devon in general and Barnstaple in particular. ‘We are lucky here, Mr Cadmus, with the weather and the views. It’s a terribly sleepy county, but we don’t mind that. Haven’t you noticed? That the air makes one rather drowsy?’

      ‘I am never tired, Miss Finch. I am always ready. Always prepared.’

      ‘That is very sensible of you. There is the river Taw. Very serene, as you can see. I think you will like Barnstaple. It has a certain dignity, if you know what I mean.’

      ‘I do indeed. Dignity is very delightful.’

      ‘And we must visit the pannier market,’ Millicent Swallow said.

      At that moment the car swerved violently and almost came off the road. Mr Cadmus had been forced to avoid a fox that had ran out of an adjacent field. A moment of silence followed, broken by a little cry or mew of distress from Miss Finch. Millicent turned around. ‘Are you hurt, Maud?’

      ‘I don’t think so. I don’t know.’

      ‘You look perfectly all right to me.’

      ‘It was the shock of it.’

      ‘My apologies, dear ladies. It would have been unwise to hit the fox. And I think we are intact, are we not?’

      ‘If you could go a little slower,’ Millicent asked him.

      ‘Of course. We will be the proverbial snails.’

      ‘And then,’ Maud said, ‘we could all do with a nice cup of tea.’

      When they arrived at Barnstaple Miss Finch got out of the car very carefully, as if she were afraid of breaking into pieces after her ordeal. ‘I feel a little dizzy,’ she told her friend.

      ‘Tea,’ said Millicent firmly.

      On their visits to Barnstaple the two ladies always frequented the Old Tea Room by the castle mound. It was managed by Jennifer Pound, one of the inhabitants of Little Camborne. She was astonished that morning when they brought in with them a strange-looking gentleman wearing a cravat and a bright yellow overcoat. ‘This is our new neighbour, Jenny,’ Millicent told her in a tone of barely concealed excitement.

      ‘Is that right?’ She had a marked accent. ‘Good day to you, new neighbour.’

      ‘And a very good day to you, my dear. My little circle of acquaintance is growing all the time.’

      ‘You speak good English.’

      ‘My mother. She came from Bridport. That is why I love Devon so much.’

      ‘I